


Laurent

by Raz0reyes



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Horror, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 06:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13712223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raz0reyes/pseuds/Raz0reyes
Summary: Laurent is a strange boy with strange things happening to him.





	Laurent

My name is Laurent.

I wasn't supposed to be born.

I know this, because my mother told me so when I was younger, I would hold my arms over my head as she tried to smash my skull in with whatever she happened to have in her hand. It could have been something small, like a wine bottle or something much harder like a frying pan. It didn't matter either way I'd feel the bottle break against my arms with the force of her swings or feel the harsh stinging pain of the iron pan crash against them until they were bruised.

While it hurt, I didn't try to stop her, she would give up after a while and stalk off to collapse on the couch and sob. She would eventually cry herself to sleep, but I wouldn't move from my spot on the floor, the warm, dull pain spread up and down my arms. It was comforting. 

But, eventually I’d get up, by the time it was dark out and I couldn't stand sitting on the living room floor listing to the TV static. My room was ugly and bare no furniture or toys like many children my age, I came to find out later, should have had. Instead there was a small mess of old rags I had stolen from the trash that I found comfortable to lay on, and a box of what I would learn are called 'crayons'. I liked crayons, I could make things with them in my room, and even eat them if I wanted to. But they didn't taste too good, but it was better than nothing.

Sometimes, I would get gifts in the middle of night. My mother hated the gifts I would get, I never understood why. Maybe it was because I liked them, or because she didn’t like who was giving them to me. I didn’t like to think about that too much. Despite her not liking the gifts, she would never try to get rid of them. Which I was thankful for.

I didn’t get to eat much, so like the crayons, I would eat some of my gifts. I mostly ate the eyes, and tongues from the deer heads. I didn’t like the meat too much at first, because I would get fur in my mouth when I would bite into it. But after awhile, I learned to peel the skin off, and just eat the meat under it. Looking back I find it silly of my younger self not to think of that sooner. But, then again, I was only six. I knew I didn’t know any better.

I was never allowed outside, and I didn’t want to go outside as a child. I remember looking out the window one time, and seeing a large, black dog. I didn’t like the way it looked at me with it’s large white eyes and sharp teeth. I think I stared at the dog for hours as it stared back, slowly turning its head until it was upside down. I didn’t look out the window again until I was sixteen.

I never knew what I looked like as a child, we didn’t have mirrors in our house, I know my skin was pale before the bruising, my arms always had dark purple, red and green spots littering them from my mother’s abuse. My bruises where who I was for a long time before I first saw my face.

By that time, I didn’t know who that was, ‘Laurent’ was just a pair of bruised arms. He still is.

I don’t remember when the crows stopped cawing, I would always hear them, all day everyday for years. My mother hated the crows, she was the worst when they were around. I was about ten when they stopped cawing, it scared me. But my mother was happy, she cried and thanked god for it. I didn’t know who god was. I still don’t.

After the crows stopped, mother was nicer to me, she wouldn’t hit me as much anymore and let me eat food from the kitchen. She even talked to me in a soft voice. I hated it, she wasn’t my mother. I didn’t know who this woman was. I didn’t sleep much anymore after the crows stopped.

She stopped hitting me completely when I was fourteen, I hated that so much. My arms felt cold, and looked too pale without any bruising so I started to do it myself, I could never get them as dark or as warm as my mother did when I was younger. That angered me. I pulled my hair out a lot because of that.

I saw my dad once when I ventured out in the woods, I vomited. I can understand why mom hates him. I don’t go into the woods anymore.

Sometimes I hear noises under the house, like scratching. And if I press my ear against the floor, I can hear voices whispering. They tell me things, I don’t like the things they tell me.

One day the sun didn’t come up, everything was so black. Mother was kneeling and whispering to god through tears. She didn’t stop until the sky turned red.

Along with my gifts, I would sometimes get piles of dirt with worms in my room. The worms always clustered and knotted together in a ball, then they died. This happened ten times before teeth started appearing. 

Mother would have leave the house sometimes, I was never allowed to come with her. And that was fine but I didn’t like to be alone. The black dog would always come inside when she wasn’t home. I hated the black dog.

I never sat on any of the furniture, I wasn’t allowed to, I did once when Mother was sleeping. But It started to breath under me. I never tried to touch the furniture again.

I saw a branch break off a tree when I was outside once. It never hit the ground. It’s still falling.

One time mother didn’t get up off the couch, I don’t know how much time past before she started to smell of rot. I didn’t go out in the living room after I saw the black dog was swallowing her head first. Damn dog.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on here, please leave a comment! I'd love to hear what anyone has to say!
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll add onto this but we'll see.


End file.
